


Welcome Home

by BarnesRogersVsTheWorld



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 04:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14512326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarnesRogersVsTheWorld/pseuds/BarnesRogersVsTheWorld
Summary: Steve returns home from a mission and can’t wait to see you.





	Welcome Home

Eight days.

Try as you might to focus on anything other than the amount of time you’d gone without word from Steve Rogers, the number kept forcing itself into your brain.

Eight days since you’d kissed him goodbye. 

Eight days since you’d heard his voice. 

Eight days since you’d said I love you.

You’d been through long periods apart before, that was nothing new. Still, it was never something you’d get used to.

Especially when your boyfriend was a self-sacrificing, crime fighting superhero. 

Steve would laugh at a title like that, but it was exactly what he was. And you found it hard pressed to be amused when you knew he was on a covert mission of which he’d put his life on the line for without ever giving a moment's hesitation. 

It came with the territory of loving the man the world knew as Captain America. But despite everything, the separation, the worry, the fear - Steve was worth it.

You squeeze his shampoo into your palm, stepping out from beneath your shower’s stream of steaming water to massage it into your scalp. 

Soapy pine. 

Now that his hair was longer, you liked running your fingers through it. Burying your face in it and smelling it. You found yourself washing your own hair with his shampoo whenever he was away, just so you could have his scent on you.

You stay in the shower until the water runs cold, soothing your aching muscles from eight long days of intense training. Anything to distract yourself from his absence.

You finally turn the faucet off, carefully aligning all the product you’d used, labels facing out. It’s a quirk Steve playfully chides you over. You smile at the thought as you pull back the shower curtain. 

And freeze.

Because Steve is there. 

Sitting atop the bathroom counter, clothed in dirty stealth suit, blonde hair ruffled and mussed across his forehead.

He peeks up from beneath his lashes, a small smile on his lips. He’s gripping the edge of the counter, legs swinging as if he’s been sitting there in uncontained excitement for quite a while.

You can’t even shout from the surprise. There’s no crying out. No swearing. There’s only a rushing acceleration of your heartbeat, and a weak, helpless noise in the back of your throat.

Steve’s on his feet in a flash, crossing the floor in two easy strides. He reaches his hands up to cup your face and brings his mouth down onto yours.

His kiss is soft, gentle. 

Loving.

His beard scrapes against your mouth, your chin. You draw his bottom lip between your teeth, and Captain America actually whimpers.

And suddenly he isn’t so gentle. His tongue sweeps yours, his teeth nip your own lips. His hands slide from your face down to your waist. Strong arms encircle it, and he lifts you up and out of the tub.

You laugh against his mouth, arms twining his neck. He smells like soot and sweat and that undercurrent of pine that is so characteristically Steve, and you nuzzle the side of your face against him as he lowers your feet to the cool tile below.

The front of his suit is damp from being pressed against you. You bring a palm up to his chest and smile, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispers, corners of his mouth lifting in a smile and showcasing a row of perfect white teeth.

“Hi.”

He chuckles. You bring your hands up to the sides of his face.

“You’ve said that already,” he teases, turning his head slightly to kiss your hand.

“My favorite thing to say to you,” you answer, and blue eyes soften.

He kisses you again, long and sweet. When he pulls away, his forehead touches yours, “You were in there so long I was about to come get you myself.”

You chuckle, dropping your arms to your side, wincing slightly as they ache from the movement. Steve doesn’t miss it.

“You okay?”

“I am more okay than I’ve been all week,” you answer. 

His smile is gentle, the corners of his eyes crinkle. He waits for you to continue, attentive gaze spreading warmth throughout your body.

“Sam kicked my ass,” you say finally. His brows raise, “I did planks and weights until my arms felt like falling off. Then he made me run until my legs felt like falling off. I could barely keep up.”

“Really?” Steve answers, grabbing a clean towel from its hook on the wall and wrapping it around your shoulders, “Because Sam’s kind of slow.”

You don’t even have the chance to scold him for the tease before he sweeps you off your feet and carries you bridal style into your bedroom. He sets you down onto the bed, unwrapping the towel from around you. You’re both silent as, with much focus and attention to detail, he passes the soft cloth over every inch of your body.

When he’s finished, he meets your eyes and grins, “There,” he says, “All dry.”

You smile back, “Do you know how much I’ve missed you, Rogers?”

He grabs the tube of lotion you keep on your nightstand and climbs onto the bed with you, tapping the side of your leg. You oblige the silent request, and he settles himself between your knees, sitting back onto his heels. Gingerly he lifts one of your aching legs up, resting your heel on his his shoulder. He uncaps the lotion, squeezing some into his palm.

“If it’s half of how much I’ve missed you,” he says, warming the lotion in his hands, “then it’s way too much.”

Affection blooms in your chest. “How did everything go?” 

He brings his hands down to your thigh, his strong, calloused fingers kneading into your sore muscles. You make a noise that’s slightly obscene, drawing your lips between your teeth.

It definitely affects him.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, and it’s strained, “we can talk about other things later.”

Typical Steve. Fresh from a week long mission, tired and dirty and likely sore himself, yet his entire focus is you. You comply, knowing any protest on your part would go unanswered, allowing him to silently work those long fingers up the length of your aching legs. 

You watch as his focus seems to falter, his eyes darting across your unclothed body. You’re no help, letting out little sighs and whimpers and moans whenever he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

He bites down hard on his lip. And when his fingers drift dangerously low on your inner thigh, you chuckle.

“I feel like you have ulterior motives, here.”

“Just being as helpful to my girl as I possibly can,” he murmurs, kissing your calf before setting your leg down. He squeezes more lotion into his palm and rubs his hands together. 

“Sore anywhere else?” He asks a bit too casually. When you don’t answer, his eyes drag the length of your body to meet your own. His pupils are just slightly dilated, the black a stark contrast against such a bright blue. 

“It looks like you might be,” he says.

“Does it?” You ask, mouth quirking into a smile at his tone.

“Definitely,” he answers, leaning forward slightly to grip your waist.

“Here, probably,” he says, and he slides his hands up to cup your breasts.

You arch your back against his touch, a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Why would I be sore there?” You question, slightly breathless.

Steve smirks, pleased by your reaction.

“Running,” he answers casually, thumbs sweeping peaked nipples, “Gravitational bounce.”

You start to laugh at that feigned innocence, but his gentle touch intensifies. You cry out in response. He cuts you a look.

“I’m going to need you to not do that,” he says, “I have a job to do, here. You’re distracting me.”

“I can’t help it,” you reach up and grasp his forearms, bare from where the sleeves of his suit are pushed to his elbows, “you’re just so good at it.”

You slide your hands down over his and squeeze, hard. You arch your back again and let out a moan that has him spilling your name like a curse between those perfect red lips.

“Tease,” he groans, moving those hands to brace himself above you. He brings his mouth down onto yours for one long, sultry kiss, pulling away before you’ve had enough.

“Says you,” you respond as he disappears from above you, “where are you going?” 

You start to prop yourself onto your elbows, but those hands grasp your hips and tug you forward in one smooth motion. Your head hits the pillow, and you let out a startled laugh.

“Steve, wha-“ you begin, but your words grind to a halt as hands move to your thighs, and then his mouth is between your legs.

“Jesus,” you gasp, fingers grasping at the bedsheets. 

“Most people call me Captain. But you can call me whatever you like.”

You let out a string of curses, unable to give any kind of coherent response as he languidly sweeps his tongue against you. 

“I hope this isn’t...the sort of service...you provide to...everyone,” you manage between breaths. Your legs feel weak.

Steve laughs a singular laugh, flicking his tongue in just the right way and causing your hips to buck forward.

“Shit,” you gasp, unable to stand it, “okay. Okay. I’m going to need you up here.”

You don’t give him a chance to protest, instead grasping the shoulders of his suit and tugging him toward you. There would be time for play later. Hours for it. For now, you simply longed to feel him again.

Steve stumbles forward, managing to brace himself from falling on top of you, laughing as you pull his mouth down onto yours.

“I’d say the arm workouts are going well,” he teases between the clashing of lips, teeth, tongue.

“Shut up,” you murmur, reaching down to the belt of his suit. Your trembling hands fumble with it, struggling to undo the clasp before you sigh in frustration.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, tugging at the fabric, “what do you do if you need a mid-mission quickie?”

“I consider that a non-issue,” Steve replies, reaching down to unbuckle his belt in one fell swoop.

“Maybe you should reconsider,” you say, tugging the front of his pants, “because this whole Captain America thing you have going on is-” you free him, your hand grasping his impressive length as you position him over you.

“Really appealing,” you finish, “I feel like any second now you’re going to tell me my country needs me to ah-“

Steve slides into you, and you lose your train of thought.

“It’s not what you can do for your country, ma’am, it’s what your country can do for you.”

“I think you’ve reversed it.”

He grins, leaning forward to catch your lips in his.

“Okay?” He asks as he begins to move.

You nod, no longer able to focus on anything but the feel of him inside you.

He pulls out slightly, thrusts in slow. Agonizingly slow.

“Fuck,” he groans as you buck your hips forward, catching him off guard.

“Dirty mouth,” you murmur, rolling your hips against his again, pushing him to move faster. “Such a dirty mouth.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, “Wait until I tell you all the places I want to put it.”

You moan, drawing your lip between your teeth. Steve’s eyes cloud, his breath quickening with each powerful thrust.

You pant his name, and he pulls out long enough to flip onto his back and haul you on top of him. You straddle him, lowering yourself onto him as you twist your fingers into the front of his suit. He grips your hips, thrusting hard into you. You cry out, and he repeats the movement. Harder. Faster. Until you find your release astride him, his name spilling from your lips.

It’s enough to push him over soon after, and Steve comes amongst a slew of swear words that are so un Captain-like. 

He pulls you forward, kissing you open mouthed and deep. 

The rise and fall of his chest slows. He pulls back, lips red and swollen and so beautiful. His fingers reach up to brush your damp hair over your shoulder, to run across your own swollen mouth.

“Thank you,” he says.

And while that sexy, uninhibited Steve Rogers does unspeakable things to you, it’s the gentle, gracious, bashful one that really tugs your heartstrings.

You sigh as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush against him. Fingers make idle circles across your back.

“Anything for my country, Captain,” you answer, nuzzling your cheek against the soft scruff of his beard.

He chuckles, chest rumbling against you, “Is this going to be a thing now?”

The suit, he means. You smile.

“I honestly do not know how we’ve gone so long without it being a thing.”

He strokes a finger along your spine. You shudder, and he grasps you tighter, “Because now I’ll never be able to wear this one again without thinking of you on top of me,” he answers, “And I like this one.”

You raise your head up slightly, kissing the corner of his mouth, “Well I think we’d still be able to get plenty of use out of it.”

And he laughs that laugh again, the one you never tire of hearing. You swear his cheeks flush a bit pink. He turns to place a quick kiss on your lips and gives you another squeeze “I love you, Doll. You know that?”

“I know,” you smile, relaxing against him.

Eight days. 

Eight days, and you’re whole again.

“Welcome home.”


End file.
